Summer Months

Growing up, in summer months

We would ride

wheelbarrows

across barrows

and potholes.

 

We would fall

o

f

f

the rugged metal

and then

c r a w l

back onto it.

 

We would run across fields

that took us farther

and farther

from the calls of our fathers

and mothers

before

c r a w l  i n g

back to them.

 

Growing up, in summer months

we were nonchalant

about the absence of

electricity

because we had our own eccentricity

 

flowing through veins

of simplicity and

naivety.

 

 

Growing up, in summer months

we would rise,

we would fall – then crawl,

we would run across fields.

 

We were nonchalant

;

I was nonchalant.

Because my own eccentricity

flowed t h r o u g h veins

of simplicity

and

naivety.

 

I miss that.

 

© Hudson Biko

via Daily Prompt: Simple